Abstract man
by Gwen-Van-Well
Summary: He first appeared four years ago. It began with opinions that came from some corner of the room. He agreed with most of what he said. The man was part of him, an exteriorization of some hidden section of his mind. That man was the product of it.


English is not my first language. If you notice any mistake, please let me know, it would be very helpful!

The characters are property of Hidekaz Himaruya.

* * *

**T**he sound of the alarm under his pillow woke up Arthur Kirkland. Almost instantly he forgot about his pleasant dream of a quiet evening at the top of a building that he never saw before in his life.

"It's going to be late if you don't take your lazy arse out of that bed." He heard from the other side of the room. Then, a joyful giggle followed those words. "I almost sounded like you. Then again, that wouldn't be a surprise, would it?"

A groan and several blinks after, Kirkland pushed himself away from the warm embrace of the blankets.

"Sod off," he yawned before proceeding to pick his cellphone and turning off the annoying sound of the alarm. In that exact moment the routine started; however, the most important part of it was lying on a bed at the first room on the right where the corridor started.

Arthur Kirkland's mother suffered a terrible condition, she was a terminal patient with the luck to have a son that worked as a nurse. She knew, her doctor knew, that she would end her days safe and happy if she spent them at the house of her beloved Arthur. After checking on her and serving her the breakfast, the man continued with his own life. "Aunt Rose will be here at elven o' clock," he assured her with a kiss on her forehead and a tight hug.

Just when he was about to pour his tea, he heard the voice again. This time the owner was staring at him from across the table. "I don't know why you insist in taking your time with that toast and tea. You very well know that you won't be able to make it in time to work."

"I know you're right," he mumbled, after all, his mother was awake and probably learning how the new TV worked. "But sometimes I would love to be able to ignore what's going on in my life."

"You should thank me," the other simply answered.

Arthur opted for not to reply, he didn't have time enough and he knew that it would only lead to a useless argument. In that aspect, the other man was just like him. "Wash the dishes, take your coat and run straight to job!" Said man chanted in a cheerful tone.

He first appeared four years ago, although Arthur wasn't sure. It began with the opinions that came from some corner of the room. He agreed with most of what he said, other times it turned to be simply irritating. At some indeterminate point, the man became visible, and he was one pleasant sight. By then, Kirkland knew that he had to be careful, because the man was part of him, an exteriorization of some hidden section of his mind. He was conscious about how it worked. And more than once he had wanted not to be.

Once out of the house, Arthur hurried down the streets of London to take the subway. It was, as usual, full of people; everyone compressed in one tiny space, where only the lucky ones got to rest their legs by settling down themselves in the uncomfortable seats.

"It seems like someone didn't take their morning shower..." The voice said in a quiet tone against his right ear. Arthur paid attention to the bad smell of a man that was before him and wrinkled his nose in disgust. He turned away his face only to be met with blue eyes and a warm breath.

When did Arthur start feeling his contact in the first place? He didn't know. It only happened. His mind was fascinating and that man was product of it, it even came up with a name: Francis Bonnefoy. One day, Kirkland said it out loud, for some reason that was beyond him. But, somehow, he knew that it belonged to the man he had been seeing around.

The Englishman dragged his eyes to the small part of the window that was visible in the crowded place, and then, Francis was gone.

The hospital that Arthur worked at was far from beautiful, and yet, it was his place in the world.

"You barely made it!" One of his colleagues said with a snicker.

"And you didn't make it at all that one time with Andersen's medication," Francis smiled from the door of the locker room.

"And you didn't make it at all that one time with Andersen's medication, Beilschmidt," Arthur shot back with a smirk.

"Hey!" The other nurse turned around, an amusing scowl on his face. "Everything went all right. End of the story."

"You say that because no one else heard about it," was Kirkland's reply before he began to put on his uniform. Francis chuckled until he wasn't seen anymore.

The morning went by as usual, the work never stopped. Voices of doctors. Workers and patients, here and there; the sound of pens scribbling and fingers typing; machines beeping every now and then; wheels rolling down the the halls. The smell of medication was far too strong.

"They will never repair this one, I tell you, Gilbert," Arthur grumbled whilst pulling at a cart that contained the elements that he and Beilschmidt needed at room 511. "No matter how many times I complain at them!"

"That's because you yell at them," Gilbert explained. "You have to kiss their asses if you want something in return. There's no respect for nurses."

"Maybe if we catch Alfred the next time, he could do something to fix it."

They walked into the room and promptly started with the medical care, pulling out a reassuring smile for the patient.

"By God, she's gorgeous!" Francis exclaimed. He was sitting on the table under the TV, glancing up and down at the woman in the hospital bed. Arthur, even if he didn't enjoy the man's presence, had to admit that, despite her illness, she was indeed attractive.

Their work was interrupted when doctor Héderváry opened the metallic door of the room.

"Good morning!" She greeted the patient with a bright smile. "Let's see what we have here..." The doctor picked up a folder and began to read out loud, ignoring the two nurses. Gilbert turned his face away from Héderváry's sight and mimicked her expressions whilst she spoke. Arthur, being the only one seeing the display, had to bite his tongue not to laugh. After those events, both of them exited the room. Francis wasn't seen for the rest of the working day.

* * *

**T**he drive home wasn't exactly a drive. Arthur took the subway and one bus; however, it was a calmer trip that the one of the morning. Everyone was tired and eager to get back home. At the moment he locked the door of the house after himself, Arthur noticed that Francis hadn't bothered him in a long time. He also pondered in that detail because said man sighed heavily, from the couch in which he was currently sprawled on.

"That was one long, long day..."

Kirkland snorted and threw his coat at him. Then went to his bedroom, not without stopping at his mother's first, to make sure that she was asleep. When he turned on the light's of his own room, he wasn't surprised to see the other man staring at the wardrobe.

"The door creaked this morning," he noted and glanced at Arthur. "You'll have to take care of it on the weekend."

"Yeah, I will." With that said, the man dropped into his bed and let put a groan. "And I still have to take a shower, but that's not the problem... I have to make dinner because mom is going to wake up soon, she can't skip it. Also, I have to prepare everything for tomorrow..." He trailed off before continuing, "The pharmaceutic. I have to call them."

"Leave that for later," he heard Francis saying, then opened his eyes to find the other on the bed. He looked calm and peaceful; his movements were slow as he stretched and slid over him. "We don't need that now." His breath was ragged and felt extremely close to him.

"You're trembling," Arthur whispered, barely moving, only dipping his body deeper into the mattress. "Does this have to be right now?" When Francis only nodded in desperation, he couldn't hold back a smirk.

There were those moments that time skipped, leaving only a blank interlude inside of Arthur's mind. It was right then when it was impossible for him to know how it worked, when he had no control over it.

Francis' hair was a mess, Arthur noticed, when the man sat above him, rocking his hips carefully against his. There was no order in every single action that took place. It was so easy to get Francis off of his clothes and, yet, he never knew where they landed once discarded. Arthur felt himself being somewhere else, as if his mind were submerged under clear water. An instant later, that moment was the most vivid of his life. Francis' hands moving across his skin, the lips of the same man kissing every corner of his being, the legs of both of them tangled in an unintelligible mess; it all happened faster than he could perceive it.

"Who is this for?" He heard the breathless voice asking. "Is it Gilbert who you wish were here? Or, maybe that helpless woman from the hospital?" And he continued, speaking right against his flesh, "Could it be mom?" Arthur's hand tightened on his hips. "Maybe it's one of your brothers, the ones that are not nurses and therefore cannot take care of this... Or dad, poor dad that went insane and got— Ah!" He couldn't continue, a moan escaped from his lips when Arthur bit them forcefully.

"Enough of that," Kirkland hissed before trapping him on the bed.

* * *

**A**n hour later he woke up. His underwear was tangled with the blankets in some corner of the bed. The feeling of emptiness and confusion was no stranger to Arthur, it always came after one of those episodes. It was as if time didn't matter anymore, as if it had never existed. His head felt light on his shoulders, his whole body—weightless. His entire life seemed like a piece that was cut off the universe, so far away and isolated that its shape barely felt real. He always remembered, at times like that, one specific moment, long ago. _He's watching Francis Bonnefoy in his kitchen, he's cooking something that Arthur had never seen before, and he spends hours working on it. Suddenly, the sound of his mother's voice is heard all over the house. Just then, Arthur notices that Francis was never there. The oven and kitchen table are completely clean, there is no food. When he thinks about it again, he's not sure if it was Francis who was cooking— he believes that it could have been his mother instead. If that were true, then who was the owner of the voice that called for him? At that point Arthur gives up and doesn't think about it anymore._

Arthur's mind was attacked by the sudden memory of his schedule. After dressing properly, he headed to the end of the evening that awaited for him.

* * *

**"A**rthur," his mother called him from the bed, taking him by surprise, for he thought that she was asleep.

"You took one nice nap this time," he smiled down at her.

"Dear, are you learning French?" She asked without paying attention to his previous statement. Her son glanced at the book he was holding and put it away before directing his eyes back at her.

"No, I'm not, mom. It's just a dictionary, nothing important."

"Oh, you remind me of my friend..." She said slowly after a brief pause. Then continued, taking one of his hands on hers. "It still feels as if it were yesterday!"

"I don't remember any French friend of hers," Francis exclaimed with a slight frown. "Maybe she's getting worse."

Arthur looked at his mother's hands and thought for a moment before mumbling: "She never said that her friend was French."

"I can't hear you, dear, you'll have to raise your voice."

"Was your friend French?" He said more loudly, ignoring Francis' panicked expression.

"Of course he was French! Don't you remember? It was at that support group back in your hospital, five years ago or so." To her, it was always going to be his hospital, no matter he was merely a nurse.

Her words brought back blurred images which he couldn't quite place, however, he knew that they existed. Arthur glanced around. They were alone. "In my hospital, you say..." All he could remember was a unfocused face and a bed, behind them there was a large window with sight to a Hornbeam.

_"I know your mother, doctor Kirkland," the man on the bed had said._

_"I'm not a doctor," was Arthur's answer._

He kept looking at the hands of his mother. There was only a few of those trees around the hospital, he noticed, all located in the same place. Considering the height of the sight of window, it must have been at the third floor, Arthur was sure. That section of the building belonged to doctor Honda's division.

"My boy... When am I going to die?"

That night he fell asleep whilst listening to his music reproducer at the maximum level, he didn't want to hear Francis.

* * *

**T**he next day Arthur arrived earlier than usual at the hospital, in order to find doctor Honda.

"Don't do it."Francis turned from a corridor and stepped in front of him. "She's not in her right mind."

"Fuck off," Arthur hissed carefully and walked past him. It was no use because the other followed him closely.

"What do you expect to get from this?" The man kept talking. "Stop it. Stop it or I will." Francis grabbed the other by his arm with a strength that he had never shown before. "You're not moving," he said in a monotonous voice, but it had a hint of hostility.

Arthur was aware of the fact that he couldn't put much of a fight in front of the whole hospital. "Release me." He ordered.

"You're not moving." Bonnefoy repeated.

With his heart beating frantically, the Englishman stood there. He wanted to pull him away, to make him disappear, to finally be alone. He didn't enjoy the idea of having no control, not at a moment like that and not ever again. Francis' hand was still and made his arm felt heavy. Arthur wished it were his mother's hand, holding him, caressing him— that it were she saying that it would end soon. The sound and noise around him didn't make sense, it was incoherent and just abraded his mind.

"Release me..." He pleaded.

"You're not moving," was the answer he got. "You're not moving," Francis repeated, louder. "You're not moving. You're not moving. You're not moving. You're not moving."

Arthur didn't know how many times he heard it over and over again. It made him sick. He stood in that corner for what felt like hours, until he lost consciousness.

* * *

**"A**rthur! Come, wake up, Arthur." Gilbert's loud, yet concerned voice was the first thing he heard.

"What...?" Looking around, Arthur found himself in the same spot he was standing before.

"Yes, 'what?' What happened to you?" The nurse helped him to his feet.

"I'm just... I'm so stupid," he started to explain. "I didn't sleep much last night... and I didn't have breakfast. It's not surprise that this happened."

"Yeah. You are stupid." Gilbert shook his head. "Look... if you ever need help with your mother, just give me a call. Sometimes you can't do it all by yourself, man."

Arthur thanked him and later explained to him that he needed to find Honda.

"Okay, but hurry up or you'll be late!"

* * *

**A**rthur didn't go to doctor Honda right away. First, he made a stop at a patient's room. A patient that he knew very well. A patient whose treatment was perfectly known by Kirkland. Right at that moment they were out at the gym of the hospital, therefore it was no trouble for the nurse to sneak into the room and take the pills of the patient, the whole small box. He ate one of them and, even if it didn't have instant effect, it made him feel in peace. It was probably the psychological aspect of the action, by merely swallowing the the small medicine, it was enough.

Francis didn't appear after that.

* * *

**A** medium sized desk —dark, soft wood— at the end of the room, right in front of a large window. The glass was impossibly clean, it allowed the spectator to admire the clear vision of the Hornbeam that surrounded the building. White marble tile covered the surface of the room, from where the door opened to the wall in which the window stood bravely. The noises were fewer in there, almost a barely audible murmur, and it was a established fact, because it was located on the third floor of the building. Everybody knew that the third floor of the building, the east side of it, was far more quiet than any other place.

Dr Honda stood behind his deck, he was holding a blue folder. It was thinner than Arthur had expected.

"I hope this will help. Once again, I'm sorry about your mother..."

Doctor Honda was an affable man. He had a good, professional relationship with Kirkland. He understood the situation about his mother, which was why he absolutely believed Arthur's lie. It was a half lie, he said that both, him and his mother, knew one of his old patients. He had enough data to make it sound convincing. Not to mention that he had Honda's trust, too.

The folder contained everything that was necessary to know. The sickness of Francis Bonnefoy, that man, was more advanced than his mother's. He wasn't from the same city—but it was a trip that Arthur could manage to make. The last report was from three years ago. The man never returned to the hospital since then.

Kirkland had to know what was of him nowadays. He had to know the truth behind the creation of his mind.

After thanking the doctor, he left the floor. He consumed more pills.

* * *

**T**he fast beating of his heart sounded like a screaming man, locked inside of an empty room. His mind raced with every step he took across the city. Arthur didn't give a second thought to his plan when he asked aunt Rose to take care of his mother, while he was busy with his extra shift at the hospital —as he told her.

A trip on train that felt far too short for his taste. A new knowledge was going to become part of his isolated life. Perhaps it was the effects of the pills that he took, but his forehead and armpits were damp, he was sweating like he had never done before. Francis didn't come across his sight; however, he made himself known. His voice echoed in the small place that Arthur was confined in. That infuriating voice surrounded him. It kept trying to push him down, to break him.

Arthur didn't make a move, his body was stiff while he remained in the same place. His mind tried to focus in something else, anything that wasn't the persistent voice. The stations that the train reached went unnoticed by the Englishman, he lost track of time, until the crowd rampaged through the place. After leaving, Kirkland took another pill and breathed. He stood there, with his eyes closed, before finally daring to take yet another train, for he had lost enough time.

Francis Bonnefoy's neighbourhood was like nothing he had ever seen before. It was small and deserted, yet he found himself turning at the same street more than once, until he spotted the house. Brick after brick it stood in the middle of a green, colourful garden.

Arthur was conscious about the possibilities. The man could be dead by now. If not, he could be living somewhere else. He could be another Francis—a different Francis from the one that resided inside of his mind. It could disappoint him. But Arthur needed to survive—he was merely surviving. It was all for his own good, and for his mother's, he needed to be stable for her. It was for the greater good.

He wiped off the sweat of the palm of his right hand before raising it and , trembling, Arthur knocked at the door. He needed an answer, a good or bad one. A meaningful or meaningless answer. To see it himself. To know that out there was something—anything.

And then he heard it:

"I'm coming!"


End file.
